Confidence
by augiesannie
Summary: Last night, in the gazebo, she'd been swept along on a wave of joy and relief. But today, on what should be one of the happiest days of her life, Maria is plagued by doubts and worries. My heart should be wildly rejoicing, she thought. What's the matter with me? One-shot. Please leave me a review!
**Confidence**

Their breakfast had gone stone-cold, but with all the excitement, no one noticed. She'd expected him to wait until the end of the meal, but they'd barely been seated when the Captain – _Georg_ , Maria reminded herself, _Georg_ \- had made his announcement.

"Children. Baroness Schrader has returned to Vienna. I have asked Fraulein Maria to marry me, and to be your new mother. And she has accepted my proposal." Then he leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face, while the room exploded with joy.

A half-hour later, it seemed to Maria that the dining room walls still positively vibrated with all the questions flying around, questions that were alternately sweet, hilarious, and embarrassing.

"When can I start calling you Mother?"

"What happened to Baroness Schrader?

"But if you love Father so much, then why did you run away?"

"Can I be a bridesmaid?"

"Do you have any idea how _old_ Father is?"

"Are you going to have more children or are we enough?"

"Does this mean you will sleep on our side of the house?"

"When is the wedding?"

"Do I have to call you Mother?"

"But didn't Baroness Schrader want to marry Father?"

"Will you wear a long white dress, and a veil?"

"Are we going to have a governess?"

"Are you still going to call him Captain?"

"Will they still let you be a nun?"

"Are you going to take a honeymoon?"

Eyes twinkling with amusement, he'd spared her from answering most of the questions. So on the last one, she tried to return the favor.

"A honeymoon? Oh, I don't know, Liesl, I'll be happy just to get settled here at home. School will be starting, and-"

He cut her off. "We're going to Paris."

"Paris?" she breathed, incredulous. She could still scarcely believe she was getting married, let alone _who_ she was marrying, and now she was going to Paris? " _Paris_?" Maria repeated, louder this time, so he could hear her over the girls' ecstatic cries.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not interested in seeing Paris? Would you prefer Rome?"

"No! Yes! No! I mean, I'd love to see Paris, of course! It's just an awfully long way to go for a week."

"A week?" he grinned. "We're going for six weeks."

" _Six weeks_?" Maria was stunned. "But we can't possibly-"

"It's a honeymoon, Maria. That's what people do when they get married, as a general rule. They take a long trip together. Alone. And they-"

The mischievous look on his face was enough to finish the sentence, and made her heart skip a beat.

"Yes, I know, Cap- I mean, Georg. But most people who go on honeymoons don't have seven children at home," she pointed out.

But then she became uncomfortably aware of the older girls' avid interest in their conversation. And Kurt's stage-whispered, "She called him 'Georg'!" From the corner of her eye, she saw Marta's lower lip trembling ominously. So Maria said only, "But there's no time to talk about that now. We really ought to get on with our day, don't you think?"

"All right," he nodded. "I'll speak to Franz and Frau Schmidt – unless you'd rather."

"No, no," Maria said hastily. "You tell them."

"Very well. I've got some telephone calls to make, related to the happy news. And an errand to run in town. What are you going to do?"

"Well," she pondered, "I don't know. I guess we'll have school just like always."

The news was met with exasperated grumbling – "couldn't we just have the day off? To celebrate?" But the truth was, now that she was confronted with a change so enormous she could barely comprehend it, Maria longed for a bit of routine. Some structure. How Sister Berthe would laugh to hear that! Which reminded her: "I want to write Reverend Mother, right away, with our news. Or maybe I'll go to the Abbey after lunch to tell her in person."

"Whatever you like, darling," he said, and he was out the dining room door a moment later, stopping only to kiss the top of her head, which prompted another round of cheers and groans.

But in the schoolroom, it didn't take long for Maria to see that, no matter how she longed for some routine, there was no hope for a productive school day. She couldn't even manage to dash off a short note to the Abbey with her good news.

The boys were acting like boys, which was to say that every time she turned her back, they were on the floor, wrestling with unconstrained joy. Louisa and Liesl huddled in a corner, whispering of dresses and flowers while sending sidelong glances Maria's way. And the younger three girls were glued to her side, squabbling endlessly over who would sit in her lap. Maria couldn't really blame them – after all, at this time yesterday, they were still grieving the loss of their runaway governess and getting used to the idea of Baroness Schrader as their stepmother.

On the other hand, her head ached horribly and her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. It was no wonder – they had stayed in the gazebo until almost four in the morning, talking. At moments, they'd giggled like children, positively giddy with relief and joy, while at others, the conversation had turned serious, about the challenges facing their family and country.

Talking _and_ kissing. There had been quite a lot of kissing last night, actually, and other things that had surprised and occasionally shocked her. Her fingers went to her mouth, where she could almost still _taste_ him, and her heart skipped at beat at memories that left her curious and eager for more. He had said something about Herr Detweiler remaining at the villa as a chaperone until the wedding, and Maria hoped that wouldn't interfere with…

Friedrich and Kurt crashed into a table, knocking a carton of books onto the floor.

"All right," she announced, "outside with all of you. _Now._ You older two are in command. Keep yourselves looking presentable for luncheon and make sure Gretl doesn't fall in the lake."

With the school day at a premature end, and an hour left until luncheon, Maria went to the kitchen in search of a cup of tea, and possibly some friendly companionship. So what happened next was most disheartening: although the kitchen was full of people she'd come to know and love in her months at the villa, she was met only with awkward silence. The gardener muttered something kindly under his breath and then, overcome with shyness, fled. Two housemaids giggled in the corner.

Franz approached and made a stiff little bow. "Congratulations, Fraulein Maria."

"Thank you, Franz." At least the man had spoken to her. For that, Maria finally forgave him his frosty greeting the day they'd first met.

"Fraulein, the Captain asked me to take you to the Abbey. I am going in that direction for the afternoon, as it happens."

"Oh, goodness, that won't be necessary, Franz. I'll take the bus like always."

"But Fraulein…" Franz began to object.

Before Maria could argue with him, Frau Schmidt joined them, saying briskly, "You will _not_ take the bus. Not any more, my dear. Now. Let me congratulate you properly, and wish you every happiness. I could not be more delighted. And I will do everything I can to make things run as smoothly as possible."

Maria was genuinely moved by the older woman's kindness. "Thank you, Frau Schmidt. I'm very lucky to have you to rely on. I just stopped by to make myself a cup of tea-"

The housekeeper turned and barked, "Anna. A cup of tea for Fraulein Maria. Quickly."

"Oh, no, really. That won't be necessary. I can make my own tea."

Frau Schmidt crossed her arms against her chest. "We must begin the way we mean to go on, and the sooner, the better. Why don't you go to the salon and I'll bring it to you?"

"I thought," Maria said hesitantly, "that I might go downstairs, to the laundry. To tell Josie." Josephine was a special favorite of Maria's. The laundress was only two years older than Liesl, but she was a charming, sympathetic companion who had helped Maria turn drapes into play clothes and, more recently, kept her company as she did her personal laundry and mending late at night.

"Josie is not downstairs," Frau Schmidt said shortly.

"Where is she, then?"

"It's not anything for you to worry about."

As sweetly as she could, Maria said, "But I _want_ to know. And what was it you said about beginning as we meant to go on?"

"Very well," Frau Schmidt chuckled. "As you wish. Josie is in her room, packing. While you were away," and the older woman paused to give Maria an appraising look, "Franz discovered Josie in the garage. With William, the groundskeeper. In an – er – compromising position. Captain von Trapp was informed, of course, and William was terminated immediately. He's a married man and the Captain simply will not tolerate that kind of behavior here! But he left it to me to determine Josie's fate, and of course, with so many young girls in the house, I thought it best for her to leave as well."

"But she hasn't anywhere to go!" Maria objected. "She's an orphan, just like me, but without the Abbey to fall back on. She has no mother or sisters to guide her. Perhaps if I had been here it wouldn't have – oh, can't you give her another chance?"

"You may have been an orphan, but I doubt that you dallied with married men," Frau Schmidt said severely. "And it is not just a matter of the Captain's daughters, you know. We have a number of young women working here, under my supervision and the Captain's protection, and we must be careful about _influences_. If you understand what I mean."

Maria didn't know what to think. It wasn't her place to – but it _was_ her place, or it was going to be, and if she didn't speak up now – but Frau Schmidt had been so kind to her-

"It's just that Josie, you see," Maria said awkwardly. "She and I-"

"Well," Frau Schmidt said briskly, "you won't be seeing that much of her any more anyway. You certainly won't be doing your own laundry, now, will you?"

"Oh! Right!" Maria pushed away the thought of putting her frayed knickers and shabby chemises on display for a new laundress.

"Now," Frau Schmidt was saying, "you go on up to the salon, and I'll bring you your tea in a minute."

Maria wandered aimlessly around the empty salon, mentally scolding herself for being so miserable on what should be one of the happiest days of her life. My heart should be wildly rejoicing, she thought. What's the matter with me? I'm engaged to marry a man who is noble, brilliant, handsome, brave, charming, kind, funny. Who-

"Now, here we are." Frau Schmidt hurried in with a tray and settled Maria with a cup of tea and some biscuits. "As long as we're here, I do have a few questions for you. I realize it's a lot to take in, but things are going to get busy before you know it! Tomorrow, the dressmaker is coming."

"Dressmaker?"

"For your wedding dress. And your trousseau! You'll need everything, it's an enormous order."

"What's wrong with the clothes I have now? They're the prettiest ones I've ever had!"

Frau Schmidt shook her head pityingly. "Madame Claudette will explain it to you. She's the finest seamstress in Austria. The Captain arranged for this appointment personally, you know. You are really very lucky."

And frightened, Maria thought. Why am I so scared? A man who loves me, a family, a home, new clothes. What's so fearful about that?

"Now, about the menus," the housekeeper went on. "Baroness von Trapp used to review them every week. I assume you'll want to do the same?"

"I'm sure that's not necessary," Maria said. "You do such a wonderful job. And I wouldn't really know what to look for."

"She was always concerned about the children's nutrition, of course."

"Oh! Right!" Maria responded for the second time in ten minutes while she scrambled for an idea. "Perhaps fewer sweets?" she ventured, and watched in horror as the housekeeper gave a satisfied nod and struck dessert from luncheon six days a week. Maria _loved_ sweets. What had she done?

"And there are areas of the house that need refreshing," Frau Schmidt was saying. "This salon, for example. New drapes, and…"

Maria knew from her play clothes experience not to argue about drapes. Trying to hold up her end of a conversation she didn't know how to have, she put in, "This is such a lovely room, the salon. I can't wait to see it decorated at Christmas time."

"Hm," came the reply, "Of course, Christmas is always at Innsbruck, with the Whiteheads. The family has a ski lodge there. It's been that way for years. "

Maria's heart sank. Every single thing Frau Schmidt was saying was making her feel worse, even though, she was quite sure, the housekeeper did not intend it. And as if to prove it, the older woman leaned over and gave Maria's hand a little squeeze.

"I'm sorry, dear. I can see that I'm upsetting you. It's all a bit much, isn't it? If you don't mind my suggesting – why don't you lie down for a bit? I'll have lunch sent up and we'll keep an eye on the children for you. You look exhausted. I'm sure it was very exciting, last night," she said warmly, with an endearing wink.

Maria followed Frau Schmidt upstairs, but by the time they reached the upper gallery, the housekeeper had her second wind.

"As long as we're up here, we ought to take a look at the guest wing. Most of the wedding guests will stay in Salzburg, of course, but the closest friends and family will be here, and you'll want it to look its best."

Maria's closest guests, of course, would be observing the wedding from behind an iron grille at the rear of the Cathedral. Sighing inwardly, she turned her attention back to her chatty companion.

"Unfortunately, there are some cigarette burns in the room occupied by-" Frau Schmidt stopped abruptly, as though she'd accidentally found herself in dangerous territory.

"Baroness Schrader, you mean?" The thought of the Baroness hardly bothered Maria, now that her Captain had kissed away the humiliation and pain of the night she'd run away. It turned out that Baroness Schrader had been partly right. He _was_ in love with her. But he wasn't going to get over it, not ever. He'd been quite clear on that point.

"Yes, yes. Indeed. Now. There's just one more thing I thought you'd like to see, and then it's a nap for you," said the housekeeper, leading Maria down a short hallway. Her heart skipped a beat: she'd dreamed about it once or twice, audacious, hopeless thoughts about what lay at the end of this hallway, and Frau Schmidt _definitely_ did not play a role in those dreams!

But now the great double doors were thrown open, and the two women entered the Captain's suite.

Dark. Gloomy. Severe. These were Maria's first impressions. Heavy drapes blocked almost all the sunlight. A few massive pieces of dark wood furniture stood against the walls, but the room was dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, a hulking mass covered by a wooden canopy. There was not a single soft, bright touch in the room.

"It's certainly – er – masculine," Maria fumbled.

"This used to be the most elegant, comfortable room in the house. But then the Captain asked for it to be redone afterwards, oh, perhaps six months after the Baroness died. I shouldn't really tell you this," Frau Schmidt hesitated, "but at first, he was sleeping in his study, most of the time. And drinking far too much, if you ask me. Eventually, he straightened out, and I suppose the redecoration was his attempt to put her memory behind him. You remember what I told you, that he simply eliminated anything that reminded him of her. You'll want it redone, of course, and it can be ready for you when you return from your honeymoon."

The room was so bleak that Maria had to remind herself that this was his _bedroom_. And that bed, forbidding and unwelcoming as it appeared, was where – her heart began to race, and she felt her face flush. Hoping the older woman wouldn't notice, she gestured toward the opposite wall. "What's over there?"

"The nearest door is the bathroom." Maria glimpsed gleaming chrome and white tile through the half-open door. "The second is his dressing room," the housekeeper nodded toward a second door, which also stood ajar.

The third, most distant door had been shut tight, but Frau Schmidt threw it open and motioned Maria inside. "He never bothered with this room. He just shut the door and tried to forget about it, I suppose."

Tucked under the eaves of the house, the cozy room was long and narrow. The air was thick with dust motes floating on bright sunshine that poured through a wide, uncurtained window at one end of the room. Overhead hung a small chandelier, shrouded, just like the larger version in the ballroom had been so long ago. A silky, blush-pink rug lay half-rumpled on the floor. Along one long wall were empty shelves and vacant hanging rods.

"Baroness von Trapp's dressing room. It needs a good airing," Frau Schmidt bustled, throwing open the window. In the soft breeze, two wooden hangers clicked together forlornly, and a stray bit of tissue tumbled across the dusty floor.

"Afterwards, her mother stayed on for a few weeks to help with the children, you know. Just before she went back to London, he asked her to – Lady Whitehead put aside some jewelry for the girls, and her furs and wedding dress are in the attic, but everything else was given away. Such a lovely woman, such beautiful things," the older woman's voice caught in her throat and then she was silent.

Maria looked away tactfully, letting her eyes scan the dressing room. Along the other long wall stood a delicate writing desk that held a porcelain lamp with its shade askew. There was a standing mirror in a lacy gilt frame and a dressmaker's mannequin. Next to the window, a comfortably wide, chintz-covered armchair faced outward, toward the lake and the mountains beyond. Nearby, an intricately carved cradle rocked gently in the breeze.

"Well," Frau Schmidt said quietly. "Perhaps that's enough for now. Let's get you settled for that nap, shall we?"

By the time they reached Maria's room, though, the older woman had regained her composure, and was reminding Maria that she ought to order her personal stationery soon. Maria had seen the Captain's stationery more times than she cared to remember: the heavy, engraved cards with the stern GvT monogram usually carried a directive about the children's studies that, more often than not, she cheerfully ignored. And now she would, apparently, have stationery of her own. But who would she write to?

"You'll need it to thank everyone for the wedding gifts, you know." Frau Schmidt must have read her mind! Clucking reassuringly, she settled Maria under her quilt and drew the shades. "You get some rest, dear. I'll have lunch sent up in a bit. And don't worry about the children. I'll keep an eye on them."

Exhausted as she was, though, Maria could not find sleep. She slid out of bed, onto her knees, and tried to pray, but she wasn't sure what to ask of the Lord. She wasn't one of His anymore, not in the same way, and surely He had bigger worries than the problems of a selfish, ungrateful girl. Even in prayer, she could not quiet the doubts and worries that shouted at her.

" _We must begin the way we mean to go on."_

" _You can't marry someone when you're in love with someone else."_

" _Are you going to have more children or are we enough?"_

" _Of course, Christmas is always at Innsbruck, with the Whiteheads. It's been that way for years."_

" _I love you."_

" _Such a lovely woman, such beautiful things."_

When Anna brought in a lunch tray, Maria feigned sleep until the girl had gone. Then, knowing how the view of the lake and the mountains beyond had always comforted her, she rose and went to the window. And just like that, she heard Reverend Mother's voice cut through the confusion, serene and clear as a bell: "You have to face your fears, Maria."

So, with a quick prayer for the courage she rather thought she lacked, Maria crept from her room. She sped across the villa and down the short hallway, slipping through the double doors and into Baroness von Trapp's dressing room.

When she reached her destination, though, she discovered that her fears had come along with her. She _definitely_ didn't belong in this room. Maria averted her eyes from the exhausted, rumpled, decidedly inelegant girl who stared back at her from the mirror, looked apprehensively at the cradle and avoided the comfortable armchair.

Instead, she stood by the open window, arms wrapped around herself, willing herself to stop _thinking,_ trying without success to empty her mind of anything except the comforting view of lake and mountains. Perhaps, if she stared at the mountain long enough, she might be magically transported back to the green meadows where she'd romped in less complicated days. But she didn't want that life anymore. Had it been only a day since she'd stood on the terrace steps and felt her heart break for wanting the very future that now lay before her?

She stood by the window for a long time, watching the changing light transform the mountain, altering its shape and color, until the sun's rays no longer reached into the room, leaving only a pale glow behind.

Without warning, there came the urgent tap-tap-tap of rapid footsteps, as though someone was in a great rush, and then the sound of the double doors being thrown open. A moment later, a familiar voice exclaimed, "What the-?"

There was no point trying to hide from him. Maria turned toward the doorway to confront her Captain, his eyes wide with alarm and his hair uncharacteristically mussed.

"Maria? What are you doing _here?_ What in blazes-?"

"I-"she fumbled. "I'm sorry."

"Where have you been?"

"I've been right here. Why?"

"Frau Schmidt said she left you napping in your room before lunch. When she went to check on you and you were gone, she thought Franz had taken you to the Abbey. But then he returned to say he'd seen nothing of you since the morning. I called there, and they hadn't seen you either, and we thought – I thought-"

He thought she had run away again. She couldn't blame him for that, not really. She had made quite a mess of things. She was _always_ making a mess of things.

"I told Max to take the children into town to distract them, and I was about to begin to search for you. I came up to get some medical supplies, just in case. Frau Schmidt is beside herself. She said you seemed troubled, and she thinks it's her fault, that she went on a bit too long with you about something. I don't know what, exactly."

"It wasn't her fault," Maria whispered, and because she couldn't think of anything else to say, she repeated, "I'm sorry."

"What _is_ the matter, Maria?" he said gently. He certainly didn't _seem_ angry.

To her horror, she felt a few tears slide down her cheeks. "Nothing!" she said fiercely, knuckling away the evidence.

He squared his shoulders and, with the same artificially casual air he'd used when he'd found her in the gazebo last night, said, "Because when it seemed that you'd run away, I was thinking. And wondering. If – ehrm - if perhaps you might be having second thoughts."

"Yes. No! I mean… I meant everything I said last night. I _do_ love you." Surprising, how easily the words flew from her mouth. "And the children. I'm so honored that you asked me to be your wife _._ "

"But?"

But," she hesitated, "Last night, I was so relieved that I got swept up without stopping to consider if I'm ready for it. Maybe I never will be ready! And I'm afraid that if I let you down, you won't – you won't…"

The tears began slipping down her face again, but he didn't seem to notice. How she wished he would take her into his arms and kiss her, offer her comfort and reassurance! To her surprise, though, all he did was look back over his shoulder into the bedroom and shake his head before turning back to her, his face full of remorse.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" he said. "I should have taken things more slowly last night. I completely lost my head, I'll admit. There was just something about you, and how close I came to losing a chance for…not that it was your fault," he added quickly. "I can only ask you to give me a second chance. It's natural for you to feel frightened about our," he cleared his throat, "being together, but I assure you, when the time comes…"

Now it was her turn to be alarmed.

"That is _not_ what I mean!"

He blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am not afraid of-" Maria felt her cheeks turn pink, but she forced herself to gesture toward the bedroom, and that great hulk of a bed. "I am not afraid of _that_ , for heaven's sake. Not at all."

"You're not?" Something flickered across his face, something intriguing, something dangerous but tempting, too, but she couldn't think about that right now.

"No. That's just _us._ It's all the rest of it I can't face."

"I see," he said, although she could see he didn't. He still stood in the doorway, as though waiting to be invited in.

"I'm sorry," she began again.

"Maria, if you are not calling off our engagement, then _may_ I ask why you keep apologizing?"

"For intruding. For being where I'm not supposed to be."

"But this _is_ where you're supposed to be. This is not my ballroom and it isn't your first day here anymore. This is your home. It's where you belong, and in the matter of a couple of months, these will be your rooms. Now," he said smoothly, crossing over to where she stood by the window. "Out with it. What happened to my optimistic, confident governess?"

"Nothing, Cap - Georg, really, it was nothing, just a lack of sleep and…"

"Maria," he said warningly, but there was a smile in his voice. "I'm trained in interrogation techniques, you know. And you can't agree to marry someone and then keep secrets from him."

"There is nothing to tell you," she insisted, knowing he would laugh at her fears.

A moment later, her feet left the floor and the room spun dizzily around her. He had lifted her like a bag of feathers and before she knew it, he had deposited himself in the armchair and settled her in his lap, gripping her firmly around the waist.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Let me up!"

"Not until I get the information I need."

"Don't tell me this is how you interrogated enemy soldiers," she grunted, squirming to evade his grip, which just grew tighter in response.

"I might have had to, had any of them been as stubborn as you," he said, his voice threaded with amusement.

She struggled helplessly in his grasp.

"Maria? Do you know what it does to a man when an irresistible young woman wriggles round on his lap like that?"

"Oh!" Her cheeks turned bright red with mortification and she ceased her struggles.

"There, that's better. No further interrogation required," he promised. He opened his arms and she went willingly into them, thinking of last night, when she'd collapsed against him, nestling close until she could hear the reassuring thump of his heartbeat.

But now there was something in her way, a bulky package tucked inside his jacket.

"What's that?" she asked, prodding at the odd shape.

"That? Oh, it's nothing, darling."

But his usual poker face had abandoned him, and the guilty lie was as plain on his face as it would have been on Gretl's.

"What was it you said about married people keeping secrets, Georg?"

"We're not married yet," he countered, but she narrowed her eyes at him until he confessed.

"Well. It's an engagement ring," he admitted.

Maria's heart sank. Baroness Schrader had an engagement ring, a formidable iceberg of a diamond given her by her late husband and much admired by Liesl.

"I told you not to, Georg!"

"I couldn't resist. Look. Just let me show it to you, and if you don't like it, I'll send it back."

He had been so kind about her supposed disappearance, how could she deny him? So Maria watched warily as he reached inside his jacket and then undid the brown paper package tied up with string, revealing a small velvet box.

"Wait," he said, "I'm supposed to get down on one knee for this."

"Oh, no, don't do that." she insisted.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Too much ceremony? Or am I too old for that kind of thing?"

"No, of course not. It's just that I've only just gotten used to sitting here," she said. The truth was, she rather liked sitting on his lap. He felt solid, strong, but comfortable, too. And she was certain that if she stayed there long enough, there would be some kissing involved. His lap was much cozier than those stone benches in the gazebo had been.

"Then stay right there, and have a look." He flipped open the box.

The small, dark blue stone was the exact color of the lake when lit by the early morning sun, with a tiny diamond winking on either side. It was simple. Exquisite. Perfect.

She looked up at him. "You chose this especially for me, didn't you?"

"Did you think I had it lying around just in case I fell hopelessly in love with someone just like you? That's the idea, yes. Do you like it?"

"I _love_ it," Maria said, surprising herself.

"Do you want to try it?" and he slipped the ring on her finger. They both admired it for a moment and then he drew her back into his arms.

Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed into the silence. Her mind stilled and she knew nothing besides the soothing play of his fingers on her neck. The room lay deep in gray-purple shadows before he spoke again, and then, he only murmured, "Maria?"

But it was all the invitation she needed, and taking a long, shuddering breath, she let the story pour out of her: Tea, Josie, laundry, drapes, menus, buses, dessert, dressmakers, wedding guests, drapes, carpet, Christmas, and more drapes. She even told him about the knickers.

"I see," he said, and this time she knew that he did see, and that he wasn't going to laugh at her.

He cleared his throat. "Let me start with the dressmaker. I apologize for that. It doesn't matter to me what you _wear_ ," and his voice sounded oddly emotional for a moment before growing stronger again. "The fact is, you are marrying a wealthy man. I wanted to make things easy for you. But if you'd rather make your own clothes, then do so. Although I hope you will consider leaving the convent's knickers behind when we go to Paris."

"I shouldn't have told you that part," she blushed.

"Yes, you should have, now I know what to tell Madame. And you can even make the children's clothes if you like! Just no…"

"Drapes, yes, I know," she finished his sentence for him.

Maria thought about the ache that lingered low in her back from hours at the sewing machine, and the beautiful clothes in the shop windows, and said, "It's not a matter of principle, you know. I'd be happy to have some lovely new things. But the wedding dress. I don't want a big wedding, and you've already had one. Why do we have to wait? Can't we just get married quickly, and quietly?"

"No, darling," he said firmly, lifting her hand to his lips for a kiss. "Absolutely out of the question. We are not rushing off to get married, as though we have something to be ashamed of. People are going to talk. They're probably already talking. I'd rather have them talking about the great big wedding I'm going to give you two months from now, than the stories they'll make up otherwise. That's why we have to wait, so that they don't think…"

"Yes, yes, so they don't think we have to get married, I know."

"Then you understand. It will be a difficult two months, but this is the one thing I will not give in on. But I do have an idea that might help. I have a sister."

"You have a sister?"

"I do," Georg laughed, "I have a whole family, in fact, although my parents are gone now. Hede is two years older, an artist, a free spirit. She lives in Vienna."

"Is she married?"

"No," he laughed again, "she likes men too much for that. But she did grow up with all of this, you know," he said, waving a hand in the air, "but she's not a snob, not at all, and I'm quite certain she would be happy to help you. I telephoned her today to give her the news and she is delighted. For the longest time, she was after me to get married again, but then she despised Elsa, you see, and I think she'd given up on me entirely. Let her come for the weekend and see if you like her. If so, you can ask her to help with the wedding."

"All right," she agreed hesitantly. "Oh, Georg, I know I'm being a goose, but there were so many _things_ today. I intended to go to the Abbey, but Franz and Frau Schmidt were horrified at the very idea of taking the bus. No one even blinked when I took the bus on my day off two weeks ago, but all of a sudden, it's a sin to take the bus? It's like I'm a different person now!"

She wasn't prepared for his reply.

"These are dangerous times, Maria. Even if you were staying on as the governess," and they shared a smile at the absurd idea, "I'd rather you let Franz drive you and the children anywhere you need to go. Or Max, in a pinch."

"Very well," she said quietly. He was only concerned for her safety, after all.

"Now," he said. "About Christmas."

He was silent for so long she thought he'd lost the thread of their conversation, but then he spoke in a low voice, holding her close against him because, she suspected, he didn't want her to see his face.

"Do you know, that after we were married, and I brought Agathe to Austria, she never saw England again? Oh, I promised her she could return whenever she wanted, but it seemed that she was always either expecting a baby or recovering from having had one. It wasn't my fault-" spoken matter of factly, and not a bit defensively – "I would have been willing to take a break, but she wouldn't hear of it. Still, she was terribly homesick. After Louisa was born, I could see how it was going to be, so I built the lodge for her parents. Her father's an enthusiastic skier, so they came for the winter, and we enjoyed teaching the children as well." Another long silence before he went on. "After – afterward, it was easier to keep up the tradition, than to try and have Christmas here without her. And that's why Innsbruck."

Maria took a deep breath. "Georg, the Whiteheads. They are the only grandparents the children have. And the children are all they have of their daughter. We can keep going there for Christmas."

"No." He shook his head. "We'll spend Christmas here. It's time for a new tradition. The Whiteheads will understand, I'm sure, and there's plenty of time go to Innsbruck later in the winter. They don't close the lodge until April. And you can learn how to ski, would you like that?"

"I'd love to!' she said. She'd seen people careening down the mountains, of course, but she'd never dreamed she'd be a skier herself!

"Fine, then it's settled. All nine of us will spend Christmas here." Georg stretched one long leg out until his toe gently nudged the cradle that stood nearby, setting it rocking. "We didn't talk about it last night, you know," he murmured. "About how there are nine of us, now, but..."

"I hope you won't regret it," she said shyly.

"There are days when I regret having even one of them, but no," he chuckled. "Tell the truth, though. You loved the seven of them before you loved me, didn't you?"

"Not exactly. Well, maybe a little," she confessed. She sat up and faced him. "That's another thing, Georg. What if we have a baby and I love him more than the others?" She was ashamed to even think it, let alone say it, but his reply was instantly reassuring.

"You probably _will_ love him differently. Because no matter how many children you have, you love every one of them differently. Take it from a man with seven children. I ought to know." He smiled tenderly and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek.

Maria was feeling a little better about things now, and more certain than ever that everything would turn out fine - if only he would kiss her. And she could tell, from the twinkle in his deep blue eyes, that he _knew_ what she was thinking. But he only smirked and said, "I am not finished yet. There is still Josie, and being waited on. Laundry. Menus. Drapes and more drapes. All I can tell you is that it will take some time, but you'll get used to it. After all, if I were dropped into the middle of Nonnberg Abbey, wouldn't it take me a while to learn the ropes?"

Maria couldn't help laughing. "Oh, you'd fit right in with no trouble at all. You'd adore it. All that discipline."

"Seriously. You, love, are the mistress of the house. The one in charge. You must please try to remember that. The children will help you, and I will help you, but things must be run the way you wish them to be run and that," he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, "is that."

"I don't see how I will ever be able to take her place," Maria blurted, and then instantly regretted it. The mood in the room, so light just a moment ago, somehow grew darker. She looked down and busied herself smoothing his tie into place.

"Don't do that."

She snatched her hands away.

"No, no. Not that. Keep that up." He gathered her hands back to his tie and she resumed her task. "I meant, don't try to take her place. Don't ask that of me, or the children, or yourself. Let her rest in our hearts and take your own place next to her. Please."

Her eyes filled with tears. "But what if I can't-"

"You can do this, Maria."

"How do you know?" she choked.

"Because I want you to."

"And I suppose you always get what you want?" she flared.

Georg pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Sorry. Too many years issuing orders. What I mean to say, Maria, is that I _need_ you to. This is all new to me too. I did not expect – even after I decided to remarry, I did not expect to love anyone again, not like this. But last night, I saw it so clearly. How did I fail to see it sooner?" He sighed. "You need to make your peace with everything that comes along with me, because _I_ need _you_. Please."

When he said it that way, she could almost believe it. Almost. "It's not only the children, it's the house, and everything else I have to-"

"The only thing you _have_ to do," her Captain said, with an air of mock hauteur, "is take care of _me_."

His confident manner, alternately playful and beseeching, was beginning to win her over. "I think I can manage _that_ ," she said tentatively.

"Careful. You don't know the half of it," he laughed, brushing his lips across her forehead. She nestled against him with a little breath of satisfaction, and they sat quietly for a while.

By now, the room behind them lay in darkness, although by the window, they sat washed in the silver glow of moonlight. The night breeze was cool, but Maria was – warm. Quite warm, and aware, suddenly, of his strong legs underneath her, his broad chest, and the way one of his hands cradled her hip, holding her firmly on his lap, while the other rested above her knee.

"Maria," he said suddenly, and his voice seemed less playful now, rougher, and more urgent. "What did you mean when you said that you aren't afraid of our being together? As husband and wife. 'Just us,' you said."

"I'm not sure I can explain it," she faltered. "I think-" she was figuring it out as she spoke "- for the longest time, I didn't want to admit to myself that I loved you, because I knew you would never love me back. Not in a million years! I was just _me_ , you know, and not only did everyone say you were about to get married, but you were so – so everything! Famous and wealthy and-"

"Older," he interjected.

"No," she smiled. "Experienced. I don't have a lot of experience with men, you know."

"Yes," he said drily. "You made that clear."

In the near darkness, Maria found it easier to say things she never would have dared to say to his face. "But last night, when you were kissing me. I mean, we were kissing each _other,_ and – and other things. Even _I_ could tell how much you want me. You want _me_ , and I," she swallowed, "I want _you,_ and in that way we are equals. It gave me confidence. Do you see?"

"Hm," was all he said, because his lips had traveled across her forehead and down her jawline before moving on to a spot behind her ear.

It was terribly distracting, and just as she was finally figuring something out for herself. "That's why – oh! – why I don't want to wait two months to get married, you see. Because – because – oh! Because if we could be together, I would feel more – ehrm – equal to the rest of it…" she trailed off, breathless.

Was it possible – or could she have just imagined it – had his hand inched higher up her leg while she'd been speaking? Certainly there was no mistaking his sharp intake of breath, or what she heard him mutter: "I had no idea…who would have guessed…?" Georg took her hand, turned it over and drew his thumb slowly across her palm until she shivered.

"Do you mean to tell me," he breathed, "that _kissing_ gives you confidence?"

"Something like that," Maria whispered. When she leaned back to look at him in the moonlight's glow, his blue eyes gleamed dangerously in his flushed face. The way he looked at her took her breath away.

His finger moved across her wrist and beyond, tracing the sensitive skin inside her arm. "One can only imagine what you will be capable of once we-"

Maria was _very_ tired of waiting to be kissed. She wound her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging his face toward her until he made a strangled noise of surrender and his mouth, firm and demanding, found hers.

Last night, their first kisses had been gentle and tentative, but there was no need for those preliminaries now; they already knew each other's feel and taste, like a special language that belonged only to them. Now, his kisses – wild and hungry – offered wordless confirmation of what he had said earlier: he needed her. Desperately.

All day long, Maria had burned with vivid memories of their hours in the gazebo, carrying with her the scorching caress of his long fingers slipping under her wide sleeves to stroke the bare skin of her shoulders. She was frantic for his touch again, and in the small corner of her mind that was still capable of thought, Maria regretted wearing something less accessible tonight. But soon enough, his fingers found a spot behind her knee that melted the flesh from her bones.

The cool night breeze could not possibly quench the fire that coursed across her skin, through her blood and low in her belly. Dizzy with pleasure, she fumbled for a way to touch him in return. It seemed impossible, not with the way he was encased in his usual jacket and tie, but when she slid her hands under his jacket and pressed her trembling fingers against his chest, she could feel the heat of his skin under his shirt and there was no mistaking the intensity of his response. He pulled her tightly against him, a forceful gesture that both shocked and thrilled her, and his hands traveled-

From far away, the harsh, insistent ring of a telephone.

He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck. His breath came in harsh gasps, "I'm sorry. You're irresistible."

"Don't. D-Don't apologize. Don't _stop,"_ she stammered. "I don't want to stop."

"I know you don't, but we've got to," he gritted out, regretfully, although he didn't seem to be able to stop running his hands up and down her back.

She pressed her mouth to his throat and smiled at the roar of his heartbeat she found there. "You don't want to stop either."

"No," Georg said hoarsely, "but there is no point to delaying the wedding to avoid scandal only to create one." He shook his head. "Anyway. They think I'm out looking for you, and they'll be worried sick by now."

"One more minute," she demanded, clinging to him. Somehow, in the last hour, this cozy room, despite its history, had become a safe place for her. For them. She curled against him, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. "I wish," Maria said dreamily, "that we could stay in here. That it was some kind of enchanted cave, that we could live on kisses and not have to bother with the rest of it."

At last, with a reluctant sigh, "Up you go," he said, and eased her off his lap, while keeping a tight hold on her hand. "I'm afraid I can't weave any spells, Maria, but I can tell you this," he said solemnly. "I love you. I need you. We need you. You will _never_ disappoint me. Never forget that."

Maria knew she would carry those words in her heart forever, and the memory of the way he looked at her, his face handsome and grave in the moonlight. She would always remember this moment, the moment when she began to believe that she _could_ do it, that his world _could_ be hers.

He went to turn on the small lamp. "We'd better clean ourselves up a bit," he said, beckoning her to the mirror.

Maria gasped at what she saw there. "We look like-"

"We look like we've been doing exactly what we've been doing," he grinned.

She ran her hands over her rash-red cheeks. "But my face!"

"Guilty," he said ruefully, lifting her hand to run it over his stubbled chin. "This was hardly a normal dinner hour. I usually shave."

"I like it on you," she said bashfully, considering his reflection. "It looks rather – dashing. But what's this?" turning to him to poke at a spot next to his ear.

"I cut myself last night."

"You are a decorated war hero and you cut yourself _shaving_?"

"I was nervous," he said defensively. "I had just figured out that I had gotten myself engaged to the wrong woman and I had a long evening ahead of me."

She laughed, and then they got busy straightening out clothing and smoothing down hair, exchanging occasional smiles in the mirror. He extended his hand to her. "Shall we, Baroness?" She flinched, but he reassured her, "You'll get used to that too, Maria."

Hand in hand, they left the dressing room and moved across the bedroom. She felt her face flush at the sight of the big bed, aware of his eyes on her, watching. But she didn't try to hide her enthusiasm, suspecting – no, _knowing_ \- that what was happening between them would not be so easy to put aside. Not for two whole months.

He knew it, too. She didn't miss the ghost of a smile that crossed his face, when they reached the big double doors and he stepped aside to let her exit.

"The children are probably back by now, and Max, all of them full of too much sugar and endless questions," he reminded her. "And Frau Schmidt is probably hysterical with worry. So is your Reverend Mother, for that matter. Don't forget about your little laundress, bags packed and waiting for your decision. Madame will be here just after breakfast tomorrow. Can you handle it, Fraulein?"

Maria looked up at him, beaming. "Bring on all your problems, Captain. I'll do my best. Wait. No. I'll do _better_ than my best!"

And then she skipped through the double doors, lifted her chin and sailed down the hallway, knowing that he followed right behind.

 **#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#***

 **THE END**

 **#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#***

 **I feel like this story is somewhat repetitive of other stories I've written, but one of my muses says that I'm allowed to have a backstory, so: it's my backstory, and I'm sticking to it. Also, the thing of it is, "I Have Confidence" is far, far, far from my favorite song in TSOM! But this story kind of wrote itself while I was toiling away at another engagement-era story. Thank you for reading this story, and please inspire me to return to the story I abandoned for this one, by leaving a review. Don't own anything about TSOM**.


End file.
